In the Beginning
by NewCliches
Summary: Once upon a time a very bad thing happened to a very little girl. Luckily, she knew where to go to find help.
1. Chapter 1

Obviously, the central character does not belong to me. The films and book do not describe how she reacts to Christian iconography, so I have assumed she reacts in the classical manner of a vampire. All else follows from that.

In The Beginning

 **Summer 1643 – Part 1**

These days, the executions were held as the night began. From his position at the side of the execution stand Father Owen could see the apprehensive faces of the crowd, lit by torches around them. The pyre behind them had just been lit and they would soon be hard to see in the glare. But they would have a view that was intended to be instructive.

The prisoner was brought on to the stand by four guards. Usually they struggled wildly, but this one was quiet and unresisting. He held a crucifix the length of his arm in his left hand, and Father Owen noticed that his knuckles were white. The rope around his left foot was tied to a ring bolted to the center of the stand. They were almost ready to receive the executioner. Three of the guards moved away to their posts at the corners of the stand, while their chief announced to the crowd the prisoners name and sentence for heresy. He was to be burnt, but as an act of clemency by the Prince-Bishop, not until after he was dead. Father Owen had to wonder just how grateful the prisoner was for this mercy.

He heard an inhuman scream fall from above. He flinched. As it echoed around the square he felt naked, frozen in the sight of something irresistible and merciless. After a moment to recover he looked up, to see silhouetted black wings, circling under the dark blue sky of twilight. The wings circled lower and lower, until it became clear that they belonged to no bird. Something black,000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 and featherless. It gave another cry, almost deafeningly loud. There was a brief impression of black-skinned wings and black fur as the creature swept low over the crowd, which ducked with instinctive fear. The stand jumped beneath him with the impact of its landing. Its body was invisible beneath its cloaking wings. The wings drew back into an ordinary black cloak the creature was wearing. The hood of that cloak was thrown back to reveal the head of a young girl of eleven or twelve, with skin as white and smooth as milk.

She was very pretty, standing there in the flickering firelight. To Father Owen she looked like a child of angels, rather than of woman and man. The firelight glinted off her hair. Around her neck she wore a simple wooden cross.

The executioner had arrived.

The prisoner kept as far away from her as the rope would permit, eyes fixed on her, and holding the cross out rigidly in front of him. She turned to face him, saw the cross, and flinched. She circled him, and he circled her, as far from her as possible. Sometimes she moved unexpectedly to his left or right, trying to get to him without looking at or touching the cross. Always he moved it desperately to face her, and fended her off for the moment. She was playing with him. She moved far too quickly for him, but always gave him time to bring the cross to bear. But she was not playing when she flinched. Father Owen could see the sudden pain on her face when she saw the cross directly. She tried to keep the prisoner and his cross in the corner of her vision.

Father Owen could see something that she could not. The prisoners hand was moving towards something he had kept from the guards. A knife that he flung straight at her face. She caught it carefully, but with ease. After a moments examination, she threw it to the feet of the guard who was supposed to have searched the prisoner.

The prisoner showed no emotion at the failure of his gambit, and kept his eyes fixed on her.

She glanced towards Father Owen, and for a moment she appeared slightly uncertain. He gave her a tiny, encouraging nod. She glanced back towards the prisoner, and struck. Before he could react his left arm was broken with a crack that could be heard at the back of the crowd and she was leaping onto him, wrapping her arms and legs around him, pinning his arms to his body. Her teeth closed around his right carotid artery as his crucifix fell to the ground. She drank. He stood there for an astonishing time before he fell to his knees, and she continued to drink.

Eventually she released her bite, and her grip. She took a deep breath, holding his body up with one outstretched hand. She looked towards Father Owen, and smiled with childish pride. A single bloody droplet fell from her lips.

She turned to face the crowd and then, with an easy strength, used her remaining hand to twist her victims head around, until it came off. Hardly a drop of blood fell from its empty veins. She threw it over the crowd, on to the pyre behind them. Then his heart. And then she grew wings and claws once more and, like a black and blood soaked angel, flew over the crowd carrying the remains of her victims body, until she dropped it to fall in to the burning pyre, and flew off into the gathering night.


	2. Chapter 2 - Winter 1640

**Winter 1640 – Part 1**

Once upon a time, a little girl lived in a hut in the forest, with her father and brother. Every market day they would walk to the village, and every Sunday to its church.

She liked the market days. Once, her mother had taken her around the stalls to help buy and sell, now her father did so. They always bought a jar of honey so that, if she was very good, she could have some honey on her bread. She always tried to find the biggest jar of honey in the market. On her last name-day, as a special treat, she had even tasted sugar.

When they had finished, and her father headed off to sit in the inn, she ran off to play with the village children. In winter she loved to see the snow, because then great fights would spread around the whole village, involving every child and lasting all day. When she was smaller her brother had joined her, but not any more. Sometimes there were men recruiting for the army of the Prince-Bishop, and once for the Emperor himself. He always talked to them, and came away talking about the glory of fighting for whoever was recruiting, and the exaltation of battle. Their father always dragged him away and told him not to be a fool. Always he talked to the young women of the village, and their father, or brothers, always drove him away and told him not to be a fool, or else. Mostly he talked to the daughter of the wise woman, Mistress Anne. Her father was dead, and her brother only eight.

On Sunday they went to the church. Her father said that in his grandfathers time, the priest would sometimes promise salvation to those who gave the Church money, but she had never heard Father Owen say this.

Father Owen would speak about ancient times, the creation of the world, and the world around them. He spoke about the wars that had raged throughout the Empire since before she was born. He spoke of Satan, and his demons and servants, who lied to men and women to incite them to struggle against each other, and against God and his Church. He spoke of the kings and princes and peasants and children they had tempted into sin, so that across the world there was murder and rapine and theft and fire. He spoke of the Devils armies, which might one day destroy their village, and everything they knew; and his other servants, bandits, imps and other fiends, which haunted the lands around their village and stole animals and people. He spoke of how those seduced by the Devil, those who gave in to temptation, would be punished with fire in the hells beneath their very feet. She always looked down. She imagined the earth giving way, and herself falling into the fire. She fingered the cross her father had given her to hang around her neck when she was small.

And then Father Owen spoke of Christ and the Holy Father in Rome and the Saints, such as Saint Wolfgang, the patron of woodsmen like her father. And he spoke of Saint Michael, the Archangel who had fought the Devil and cast him out of heaven. And how those who called on God with the True Faith in their hearts could defeat and drive away any of the demons that plagued mankind, and how the Holy Roman Emperor would one day destroy the armies of the devil in the name of the Lord God Himself.


	3. Chapter 3 - Summer 1643

**Summer 1643 – Part 2**

She saw the city laid out beneath her, thousands of feet below. She could see everything from the palace of the Prince-Bishop at its center, to the walls that surrounded it. Reaching this height was an effort, but the slow glide back down was calming, peaceful, and left her at one with the world. When she landed in front of the church, her mind was clear and her heart open. Perhaps after her latest service to God He would accept her tonight.

Perhaps she would be forgiven.

Or perhaps not.

There were ten or twenty steps from the edge of the church grounds to the door into the church. She glanced down at her feet. They were bare, but shoes would make no difference. Using her rag to protect her hand, she clutched at her cross. She began to pray, and stepped towards the church. One line for each step.

"Our Father, who art in heaven"

Even to utter the words burned her throat. When her foot touched the ground, it was like stepping on to a fire.

"hallowed be thy name"

The next step burned her other foot. It would only get worse as she approached the door into the church.

"thy kingdom come"

Her vision blurred. She could no longer smell the flowers in the churchyard. The breeze died to her senses of touch and hearing.

"thy will be done"

She was starting to shake.

"in earth as it is in heaven"

Ten thousand needles stabbed into her skin, and into her eyes.

"Give us this day our daily bread"

She started to bleed from ten thousand agonizing points, and she could feel each single drop leave her.

"And forgive us our trespasses"

Her sense of balance disappeared. She shuddered violently, and almost fell.

"as we forgive them that trespass against us"

She was almost blind. The sound of her own heart was all she could hear, and every beat was painfully loud.

"And lead us not into temptation"

She collapsed onto her hands and knees. As soon as they touched the ground, they burned, whether they were covered by her cloak or not.

"but deliver us from evil"

She was choking on air too thick to breathe.

"For thine is the kingdom"

She could no longer hold her body off the ground. She could only crawl towards the door on her stomach.

"the power, and the glory"

She could no longer speak out loud, and could only hope that her unspoken prayer could be heard.

"for ever and ever"

She could feel her flesh falling from her where it touched the ground.

"Amen."

She could move no further. She reached out, and her hand just touched the door. It was as if her skin was being flayed from her. She could only sob.

An unguessable time later, Father Owen was called. He picked her up as gently as possible, as if she was lighter than any feather, and took her back to her room to rest. She would be perfectly healed when the next night fell.


	4. Chapter 4 - Winter 1640

**Winter 1640 – Part 2**

One cold night, when the little girl's brother was late returning from a trip to gather firewood, there was a knock on the door of the hut where they lived. A traveler outside asked to be let in. Her father was worried. He gave her a knife and told her to hide behind the bed. He placed his axe next to the door.

She had used the knife before. Sometimes they had a pig or another animal to slaughter. Her father and brother would use a rope to suspend it upside down by its rear legs, so it was helpless. Then, sometimes, they would allow her to use the knife to cut its throat, and use a bowl to catch the blood that escaped. With her right hand she held the knife firmly, and felt courage flow into her from it. With her left hand, she held on to the cross around her neck. She could not see what happened at the door, and could only stay quiet, and listen.

She could hear the door open, and bits of the conversation. Her father was persuaded to allow the stranger to come in. Almost as soon as he did so, she heard her father call out and fall to the floor. Her head shot above the bed and she saw a slightly built man, dressed in rags, lying on top of her father, pinning him down. She leaped over the bed and onto the man, screaming as she did so, and stabbing the man in his lower back. She felt the knife sink into his flesh. The man screamed in rage and swung around, flinging her across the hut. The knife slipped from her grasp and was lost. She saw that the man was no man. A demons face glared out at her through red eyes. The demon snarled at her like a wolf. Her father was struggling to his feet behind him, blood spurting from his neck, reaching for the axe. Suddenly the demon whirled round, and threw him back to the floor. "Saint Wolfgang, help!" she cried, trying to find her knife. The demon turned again, springing across the hut and bringing her down. She was on her back, face to face with the demon. It snarled and _bit_ into her. "Saint Michael, save me!" she screamed and with all her strength thrust her cross into the demons right eye. It screamed and she saw and smelt the smoke from its burning face. The demon backed away to see her father back on his feet and jumping towards them with his axe. It snarled, turned, and ran out through the door into the night.

They stared at each other, each bewildered by what had happened. They dressed each others wounds, waited for her brother to return, and hoped he would not encounter the demon. Her father hugged her. She kissed him on his neck. By the time her brother returned, she had noticed the shape of a cross, burned into her left hand. It was starting to sting.


	5. Chapter 5 - Summer 1643

**Summer 1643 – Part 3**

 _Blood flowed from the wound in the prisoners flesh as the lancet cut through the vein. It fell into a funnel placed directly below, and then flowed into a bottle. The surgeon waited until the bottle was almost full, before tightening the_ _tourniquet_ _and cutting off the flow. In a month, the prisoner might be bled again. A stopper was placed in the bottle._

 _The bottle was taken up many flights of stairs from the dungeon to a room at the top of one of the most remote, and certainly the most shunned, of the towers in the Episcopal palace. Guards opened the door, allowing the bearer of the bottle into the room. Little light seeped into the room through the curtained slit windows. Candles had to be lit._

 _The bottle was placed with painstaking silence on a table in front of a casket. Its former carrier crossed himself, knocked on the lid of the casket, and fled._

She was woken by the opening of the door, not the knock, but waited until she had heard the servant leave the room before opening the lid. Her eyes fixed on the bottle as she drank in the scent from it. Her left hand tightened on the lip of the casket, and the wood within it splintered. She moved with the exaggerated care of desperate self-control as she emerged. She dressed herself, and used her rag to put on her cross around her neck.

She opened the bottle, and started to pour the blood into the bowl. She kept pouring it into the bowl until the bowl was full and the bottle half-empty. She emptied the bowl into her mouth in seconds, and only then grabbed the bottle to empty it straight down her throat. Desire swept through her. She saw the locked door in front of her. She would rip it off its hinges! She would tear through anything and anyone who stood between her and more blood… she saw the sunlight filtering through into the room. It was still daylight outside. Her passion faded.

Another night was about to fall, and she was still dammed.


	6. Chapter 6 - Winter 1640

**Winter 1640 – Part 3**

The little girl woke to find her father kissing her. "Wake up, my little girl." She blinked. She felt fine. She tried to look at her bite mark, and found it faded. The injury must have been slight, because she felt as strong and fit as ever. She got dressed quickly, and stung herself on her own cross when she put it around her neck. She looked, but could see no splinter. She shrugged, and started breakfast.

She could not keep it down. Even though her father had said she could have honey on her bread, after the shock of last night, it tasted so cold and dry and somehow repulsive, it seemed impossible to eat it. Every time she tried, her stomach rebelled and forced it back up. Her father was concerned rather than annoyed. "You as well, it seems."

"Father could not keep anything down either", explained her brother.

"Well", said her father thoughtfully, "I suppose the illness will pass. In the meantime, I am going to head down to the village and see if anyone knows what that thing was, where it comes from, and how to hunt it down." His forefinger jutted towards her brother: "For the moment it is still out there somewhere. Keep that axe by the door, and do not open it unless you know who is on the other side. You are responsible for keeping you both safe until I am back."

"I will call on Mistress Anne on the way back", he added, "and see if she has any ideas about this sickness. I don't like the way it came on after we were attacked." He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and opened the door. He glanced over his shoulder to her, said "See you this evening, my little girl," and stepped into the sun.

He gave a cry, and for a second she could not see what was wrong. Then he turned towards them and she could see flames bursting out all over his body and hair and head. The flames reached almost up to the ceiling of their dry, wooden hut with its single door. Suddenly he turned again, and ran out into the sun, where the flames roared ever higher and he screamed. Within seconds he was consumed completely. They could only stare in horror.

After a frozen second, her brother strode to the door, and shut it. He turned to her, needlessly told her to stay out of the sunlight, and embraced her. She hugged back so fiercely, he had to tell her not to squeeze so tight.


End file.
